In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Our House.”
The earliest memory I have is of a house I lived in but didn’t grow up there. It seemed to have a garden that was so long I don’t think I’ve had a house with as big a garden. I was two years old so who’s to say it was actually that big?
I seem to remember it having a red-framed conservatory and I had a plastic set of pliers or something similar and was trying to fix the outside of the frame. It wasn’t broken I just had it in my head to fix it with my plastic tools. No wonder I ended up being a bike mechanic working with tools everyday!
The house above is in fact the house I grew up in. I loved living there. My school was visible from the kitchen. The front garden wasn’t always gravelled but when my dad starting parking on it the grass soon turned to sloppy mud so it all got ripped out. I wish it had stayed green. The front of the house also had ivy over it which always gave the house a bit of personality. Looking at this photo taken eight years ago, the house looks nothing like the home I lived in. No ivy, no character, still gravelled.
I’ve got many happy memories living in this house. I always wanted to go back and see it but having seen this photo I’d rather not now. I had all my best friends a stone’s throw away, my cat who followed me to school and a genuine happy time in my life. As I stated in a previous post, I was so sad and angry to leave this house but I’m thankful for the memories I have got there.
The antics me and my sister got up to at the bottom of the garden cannot be expressed online, honestly the things kids will do when left unattended over the summer holidays!